


Of Mice and Men and Slices of Toast

by stellectrum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crack Pairing, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellectrum/pseuds/stellectrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, just maybe, Peter Pettigrew could change the story. All it takes is a slice of toast and a very strange girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Mice and Men and Slices of Toast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Wolfstar Skanks](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Wolfstar+Skanks).



> If you aren't in on the joke, this is probably going to be very confusing. I apologize in advance for your sanity. Feel free to keep on reading, but this was written for a specific group of people on a specific premise. It was born from the idea of Peter with a toast shop, reading the Shoebox Project and spending too many nights on the tinychat, and of course our dear friend Quinn.

Toast. He’s good at toast.  
So toast it will be.

*****

It all re-begins that morning, when Peter avoids his toaster altogether. He can’t chance having a burnt toast day.  Burnt toast days tend to end in general disaster and despair, and today is an important day. Or at least by his standards.

It’s not much. Actually, it’s more of an extension of the tailoring place he currently works in. Hardly more than a window or two and a counter next to the aforementioned establishment, Peter Pettigrew’s newly contrived toast shop is more tragic than anything. The previous owner was ready to close up for good and let whoever the hell was in charge have at the property when an offer sprung. 

Peter had executed a total of three notable, spontaneous acts in his life thus far. The first contributed to what would become a monthly routine. During a full moon, he had transformed and scampered up to the Willow to press the knot. The second was but a hazy memory known only to his friends and unfortunate bystanders, and he would prefer to keep it out of his system (along with whatever alcohol was involved that night.) This was the third.

James is good at quidditch, embarrassing himself with his attempts at romance even though he probably doesn’t need to try so pathetically hard anymore, and just about everything in between. If James bloody Potter wanted to try his hand at being a superhero like he always said he would, then James bloody Potter would be a superhero. And a _bloody_ good one, at that. Remus is good at thinking things through when the rest of his friends would rather charge headfirst into any and all situations. He’s also good at reprimanding them after they do so. Sirius is good at invading people’s personal space. They are all very good at not being uninterestingly unhelpful nobodies who get attacked by the desolation of burnt toast and angry ladies and trousers in a dusty, thankless not-quite-a-tailor position. _I’m good at toast,_ Peter said once. McGonagall had scoffed and attempted to skin him alive with only her piercing eyes. But if that’s all he can think of, if that is the only plausible thing he is even remotely skilled at, he would be damned if he didn’t act upon it.

And so Peter Pettigrew’s toasting entrepreneurship was conceived.

*****

“You’re joking.” James deadpanned. Peter shook his head from across the table. Sirius was dangerously close to choking and spilling his drink into his lap. James thumped him on the back. It had been too long since the four of them had gotten together like this, and Peter figured it would be a good time to introduce his new toast shop and proudly soak up their reactions. He didn’t expect it to be like this. “Where is it?”

Peter motioned to the window. “Just a block or so down from here, actually. It’s that shoddy little place next to the tailor shop.” James’s eyebrows raised, intrigued.

“Really? Can we see it?” 

Peter felt like sprouting wings and flying. He nodded vigorously and fumbled his way out of the booth. They walked to the door of the cafe they were in, James mumbling something to Remus that made him laugh under his breath and shoot _I know something you don’t know and by the way you’re our next victim you just wait_ looks at Sirius, Peter ignoring that and grinning as hard as he possibly could without injuring himself. This was it. His shining moment, his one good chance to impress his friends. As they crossed the street and walked down to the toast shop, Peter lost himself in the thought of James and Sirius and Remus finally being proud of him, and became more and more distracted, until he bumped into Sirius, who had stopped walking.

“Here?” James asked. Peter muttered a hurried yes, and speed-walked past them to his front door. He fumbled with the keys until he found the right one and jammed it into the lock, ignoring the squeal of rust that emanated from the hinges. With his chest puffed out, he proudly ushered his friends inside.

“This is it?” Sirius looked around slowly. “As in, all of it?” There was no reply, only the familiar sound of Sirius getting smacked upside the head. 

 “Mate, there’s hardly anything at all.” James let out a low whistle. And there really wasn’t. Peter hadn’t spent much time straightening up whatever could be straightened up. A row of toasters lined the back counter with a set of shelves on either end for the bread. The window to the side was cracked, half the lights had burned out, the door creaked, and one could choke from inhaling so much dust. He should probably work on that.

“Any customers yet?” Sirius motioned to the cobweb in the corner, the one that seemed to get larger and more menacing every time you looked at it. “Besides the, er, spiders?” 

At that, the floorboards creaked and four heads turned toward the counter. 

“Who’s she?” James asked. A girl around their age had emerged from the back room and busied herself with wiping off the counter. She was very pretty, in that quiet, reserved way that was not very common, but stunning nonetheless. She didn’t seem to notice them. Peter cleared his throat.

“Guys, this is Quinn. I- I’ve hired her to help me with the shop.” The girl, Quinn, looked up and gave a quick wave that truly personified the phrase “blink and you’ll miss it.” Sirius stepped forward and held out his hand, but she had already turned away, suddenly occupied with arranging the toasters. “Quinn, these are my friends, James and Sirius and Remus.” 

Quinn stood back to admire her toaster organizing. Satisfied, she whirled around again to the four boys addressing her. They smiled hesitantly. She blinked. Peter loved when she did that. It was almost as if she didn’t need words to communicate what she wanted to say. Her eyes did the talking, and they were beautiful eyes indeed. Peter stared at her with an awed silence, captivated. The other three boys stared in confusion. What must have been the most awkward silence in recent history ended abruptly when Quinn turned on her heel and disappeared into the back room once again, the old door shuddering and squeaking behind her. Remus averted his stare and focused Peter with the same confused expression. Sirius and James turned to each other, eyebrows furrowed pensively.

“All….right.” Sirius blurted out, simply for the sake of making noise. James promptly burst out laughing.

“Look- look at- Pete, your face!” He pointed and laughed harder. Peter shook his head to clear it and snapped back to reality. “Look at him. I know that kind of look. Wormtail’s in loooove.” Sirius attempted- and failed- to muffle his snickers with the crook of his elbow.

Remus broke out into a grin and clapped a hand on the shoulder of a still stunned-silent Peter. “Good for you. And I’m sorry, but we have to get going now. It was really nice to see you, and the place looks great. Or, it will. You’ll have to bring us back here when business is booming, right?” Peter tried to ignore the doubtful smirks on the faces of his other two friends. “Come on.” 

As they left, Peter couldn’t fully stifle the little angry ball of resentment rolling around in his stomach. Actually, maybe that was his lunch. Either way, it was uncomfortable and uncontrollable, and he didn’t like it. So what if his friends didn’t understand how much work he had put into the toast shop already? They didn’t know how much it meant to him. They probably wouldn’t care even if they did. He was the dirt underneath their fingernails, the gum on their shoes, the blackened crumbs of burnt toast that are carelessly brushed off with a butter knife before consumption. What was toast to James Potter, or Sirius Black, or Remus Lupin, when they had so many other cool, important things in their lives? They didn’t understand, but there was one person who did. Peter couldn’t stand the idea of losing his friends, of being the loner once again, yet he could already feel himself drifting away from them. He was going to be left behind. No matter, there was still one person who cared, who understood. Quinn would be there. He just knew it. Perhaps slowly losing his friends wouldn’t be too bad so long as he could get lost in Quinn’s eyes, her smile, her especially unique manner of speaking. Her silence eased him in ways his friends’ taunts and smirks could not. It was comforting and warm, as if she wordlessly invited him into some sort of secret, one they could share, just the two of them.

Yes, there was always Quinn.


End file.
